Platinum Prey

by Sophie Davis

  “Talking to Adam just gave me the push I needed,” I concluded. “I have a lot of unresolved questions when it comes to him and that period in my life. A lot of my issues with my parents stem from their reaction…from what they did to me.”

  “For you,” Rebecca replied automatically. “They did what they thought was best for you. Put yourself in their shoes—they were worried about you, Lark.”

  “Right,” I said carefully. “I just think I might be able to better grasp their reasoning and their actions if I had a clear picture of what happened.”

  Just like I knew it would, my “mature and well-reasoned” reply caused Rebecca to nod her head in agreement. Finally.

  “Just one thing,” I added, knowing how delicately I needed to handle this to avoid causing suspicion. “Now that I’m eighteen—”

  “Oh, I’m so sorry, Lark. I forgot—happy birthday!” Rebecca reached across the space dividing us—what was considered a do-not-cross zone, usually—and squeezed my hand with her cold fingers. “How was your party?”

  “It was great,” I said quickly, hurrying to shut down the possibility of a subject change. “But now that I’m eighteen, you ca…I mean, you won’t be discussing anything with my parents, correct?”

  “Lark, I have explained this to you. The discussions I’ve held with your parents were only to give them an overview of how you’re doing, nothing more. And I never share specifics. The only reason I would ever have told them anything more is if I thought you were a danger to yourself or others. Or, if a serious condition was evident. Now, however, no, I will not discuss even those things with your parents. You are considered an adult now for all intents and purposes, including this one. Now, everything we discuss is only between you and me.”

  “No biggie,” I said breezily, as if I hadn’t just made a point to ask. “I was just wondering. Now, how do we do this?”

  “Just lay back,” Rebecca said, smiling at my eagerness. She was mistaking the reason behind it, but there was no way I was going to correct her.

  Sliding off my baby-pink ballet flats, I shifted so my feet were on the opposite end of the couch, my head resting against one of the downy throw pillows. Rebecca stood and crossed over to the gleaming cherry hutch beside her desk. When she opened one of the cabinets and produced a video camera, an alarm went off inside my head, a voice furiously whispering that this was a bad idea.

  “Wait, why…,” I paused to steady my voice, continuing in what I hoped came across as an offhanded query. “What’s the camera for?”

  “Oh, it’s nothing to worry about,” Rebecca answered, her back still to me as she set up a tripod. “Some clients find that they don’t remember what we discuss during the session, and it’s easier for them to be able to watch it later. Sometimes—this won’t be the case with you, since we’re not dealing with anything too serious—but sometimes things that come out during hypnosis are difficult for the client to grasp. They may need to hear it coming from their own lips, rather than take my word for it.”

  I processed the new development and her words. When she turned to face me again, the unsure gaze left my face a beat too late.

  “Oh, Lark, there’s nothing to worry about. I tape all my hypnosis sessions. In this case, you simply may not remember and may wish to view the tape. I know the idea of not being in complete control may be frightening, but…”

  Rebecca carried on with her platitudes, but other thoughts consumed my mind. Even with all the possibilities, all of the potential outcomes, I still knew that this was something I wanted, even needed, to do.

  “It’s fine,” I said, waving off her explanations. “Let’s do this.”

  “Close your eyes,” Rebecca said. “Take deep breaths, in through your nose, out through your mouth. Now continue your breathing and focus on your toes. I have to tell Linda we’re going to run late, but focus on you: relaxing your toes, letting go of the tension, giving your muscles a rest.”

  Though I heard her speaking softly to her receptionist on the intercom, telling Linda she could head home for the day, Rebecca’s voice barely registered as I followed her instructions.

  “Your feet will start to feel heavy,” she continued, coming back to the armchair. “Let that heaviness travel up to your legs, your calves relaxing, slowly losing all tension. Now your thighs—heavy, relaxed. Let go…”

  For several, long minutes I followed her directions until my entire body, even my hair, felt like lead. The sensation caused my mind to feel lighter, but at the same time distant somehow. As if my thoughts and body were no longer attached, and my consciousness was tied to neither of them.

  “How do you feel?” Rebecca’s words were soft and soothing, traveling into my mind almost as if it was my own thought.

  “Unsure.” I heard my voice replying, but there was no conscious intention to go with it. A part of me bucked at the sensation, fighting against the loss of control. Strangely, it was as if I could see the actual thought, the words hovering in my view: this is a bad idea.

  “You’re safe, Lark,” Rebecca soothed. “You’re safe in your surroundings. Relax deeper. Let everything go. This is a safe space. Let go….” The soft voice continued with its gentle instruction, the words falling upon me like a warm blanket.

  I found myself automatically complying and, as if I’d physically swiped them away with my hand, the words of warning disappeared from my view. There was no longer a need to focus or to think. I simply was.

  “Go back, Lark. Let your mind fall back to when you lived in Connecticut.”

  “Uh huh.” The second syllable was drawn out, almost as if a child was responding.

  “How old are you?”

  “Six and a half.”

  “Where are you, sweetheart?”

  “It’s a secret,” my voice replied in an exaggerated whisper.

  “Why’s that?” Rebecca whispered back.

  “‘Cause it’s my special hiding place.”

  “It’s okay, sweetheart. I can keep a secret.”

  “Hmm, I dunno. If I tell you, you can’t tell anyone else, ‘kay?”

  “Of course.”

  “It’s the couch in Daddy’s office. But don’t tell anyone. I like to sit here with my books.”

  “Who are you hiding from?”

  “Mommy. And Nanny, too.”

  “Why are you hiding?”

  “Mommy is yelling at Nanny. I hate when Mommy yells—especially at Nanny. Nanny is always nice to me. She never says no when I want to play with my dollies.”

  “Can you hear what they’re saying?”

  A quiet giggle escaped my lips. “Mommy says Nanny is joking. Nanny tells such funny jokes.”

  “Is your mom laughing?”

  “No,” I replied sadly. “Mommy never laughs at my jokes, either.” Suddenly my face scrunched up. “Why didn’t Nanny take my temperature? I didn’t get to stay home from school or have soup and watch cartoons, either.”

  “Why would you do those things?”

  “I get special days when I don’t feel well.”

  “Are you sick?”

  “I don’t feel sick. But Nanny is telling Mommy that I have to go to the doctor again. That’s why they’re having a row. That’s what an argument is called where Nanny is from,” my young voice went from sounding exasperated to proud.

  “Do you go to the doctor a lot?”

  “No. Nanny did take me to the doctor yesterday, though. Mommy came, too, but I didn’t like that. She wouldn’t let me have a lollipop. I always get a lollipop when I go see the doctor. Mommy says they will rot my teeth and make me f…” My prattling paused while I listened to the conversation in the next room.

  Without warning, sadness washed over me like a wave. “Mommy says Nanny can’t stay here anymore. She says…” my voice trembled, wavering on the edge of tears. “She says she has to leave. But I love Nanny. I don’t want her to go.” Tears streamed down my face. Even though there was a sense of detachment from my physical body, I could feel
the wetness on my cheeks.

  “Shhh, it’s okay, Lark,” Rebecca lulled. “Go forward now. Move on. Let the years pass.”

  The tears ceased, and I felt my head nod as I followed her instructions.

  “How old are you now, Lark?”

  “Eleven,” I whispered, my voice barely audible. This wasn’t the same exaggerated whisper of a child. The word was exhaled with my breath.

  “What do you see?” Rebecca quietly asked.

  “It’s dark.”

  “What are you doing?”

  “Hiding.”

  “Who are you hiding from now?”

  “Everyone.”

  “Can you tell me where you are?”

  “I don’t know,” I replied in a trembling voice.

  “Don’t know or don’t want to tell me?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “What’s around you?”

  “You can’t talk to me now.”

  “Why not?” Rebecca’s question was rewarded with silence. “Okay Lark, move on now. Move forward through the years. You’re in eighth grade now.”

  “Uh huh,” my voice answered, my tone no longer hushed.

  “Where are you?”

  “In my room.” There was a touch of melancholy in the words.

  “What’s around you?”

  “My birthday presents. They’re all sitting on my comforter.”

  “What are you doing?”

  “Sitting on my bed. I’m supposed to be writing thank you notes, but I’m thinking about Adam instead.”

  “And what are you thinking?”

  “I’m wishing he didn’t like boys. I’m wondering if that will change.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “A part of me still wants him to be my boyfriend.”

  “Go forward a few months, Lark. Go to the last time you saw Adam in Connecticut.”

  “It’s the last week of school,” my voice was stronger now, full of confidence.

  “Are you in class?”

  “Yep. English. Mrs. Edelmen is going over stuff that will be on the final exam. Bor-ing.”

  “And what are you doing?”

  “Passing a note back to Adam about our end-of-the-year party. It’s going to be so awesome. Everyone who’s anyone is coming. I can’t wait until school is over today. Our moms are taking us to taste the catered food and pick what we want them to serve. We’re going to have waiters passing around the food and soda. And no parents. Chris Larson’s older brother is going to get us a bottle of vodka.”

  “What happened next?”

  “Chris passed me a note. He wants to know if I’ll be his girlfriend. We kissed at my birthday party during truth or dare.”

  “What are you thinking about Lark?”

  “He is really cute. And his older brother drives us places. It could be a really fun summer if I say yes.”

  “No, I mean…are you thinking about anything else?”

  “A little about Jon. I thought he liked me, but maybe he doesn’t. Chris is funny. I like that, too. And he hasn’t hooked up with a bunch of girls, so I think I’m going to say yes.”

  “What else is happening around you, Lark?”

  “Mrs. Edelmen is walking up and down the rows between our desks. I have to hide the notes from Adam and Chris under my notebook, or she’s going to take them. That would be so humiliating.”

  “What is she saying, Lark?”

  “That this lecture will be on the exam.”

  “Do you hear anything besides your teacher talking?”

  “No,” I replied with a huff.

  “What is the lecture about? Tell me what Mrs. Edelmen is saying.”

  “She’s talking about a short story that we were supposed to read.”

  “Good, focus on her voice. Can you do that, Lark?”

  “Yes.” The word sounded small, my voice hollow.

  “What happening now, Lark?”

  “Mrs. Edelmen is reading the story aloud.”

  “What’s the story called, can you tell me?”

  “The Lottery,” I whispered. “It’s called The Lottery.”

  Rebecca sucked in a breath. “What is this story about?” she asked, her question lacking her normal confidence.

  I shuddered, but wasn’t sure why.

  “Lark? Are you still with me?” Rebecca asked when I didn’t answer.

  “I’m here,” I said.

  “What is this story about?” she repeated.

  “There’s this small town,” I began, trying to focus on both Mrs. Edelmen’s voice and Rebecca’s questions. “Every year they hold a lottery, before the harvest.”

  “Good, very good,” Rebecca coaxed, but I barely heard her.

  “It’s not a good lottery, though. The winner, a woman this year…she…no. No! Not the boy, not him. It’s not fair! It’s not fair!”

  “Lark? Lark? Lark, stay with me. Follow my voice. You are safe. Do you hear me, Lark?” Rebecca was calm, and yet there was an urgency to her voice that I clung to. I needed to get back to her. I needed to get away from the images in my head.

  “And then the villagers picked up their stones and began throwing them at Tessie,” Mrs. Edelmen said.

  But in my mind’s eye, I saw a boy standing at the center of the crowd. There was a loud crack, and then a red blossom appeared over his heart.

  “No!” I screamed.

  “Lark? You need to follow my voice, Lark,” Rebecca insisted.

  Darkness engulfed me. I wasn’t back in Mrs. Edelmen’s class. I wasn’t in Rebecca’s office. I was…nowhere. I tried to wade through the blackness, but it was like walking out to sea during a hurricane. Large waves of black nothingness kept pushing me farther and farther back. Let go, a voice said. So I did. I let the darkness take me under.

  “Lark, it’s time to wake up now,” Rebecca’s voice sounded far away at first. But as she continued, the words grew louder and clearer. “Open your eyes.”

  At first, my body and mind still weren’t connected. It took several tries to rejoin the two and lift my eyelids. When I finally did, my vision swam in front of me. My eyelashes felt heavy, weighed down. Swiping my hand over my face, it came away damp.

  “Whoa,” I said, sitting up quickly. Using both hands, I wiped the tears from my eyes and ran my fingers through my hair. “That was so weird.”

  Looking over at Rebecca, I was startled by the expression on her face. She looked shaken and…was that fear?

  “Yes,” she replied, visibly struggling to pull herself together and put her professional demeanor in place. “It certainly was.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  RAVEN

  EVEN ON THE fifteen-inch laptop monitor, the head of Kingsley Diamonds projected power and importance. The Phillip Kingsley on-screen was younger than he was today, but he’d aged well.

  Most of the other men on the Kingsley Diamond Board of Directors were old, stodgy, and so boring that I wanted to gouge my eyes out. Their voices never inflected beyond flat, apathetic tones. Of course, it didn’t help that their discussion topics were already enough to put me to sleep. They used a lot of words that only belonged at Wharton Business School, or the Senate floor. I didn’t understand most of what they discussed, or why Lark would’ve taken such pains to ensure the safety of the videos.

  Naturally, Asher understood it all. He was able to follow the discussions and assumed the role of my instructor. Unfortunately, understanding what was being said did not make it any more interesting. Or relevant to Lark, as far as I could tell.

  “There has to be something important on here,” Asher insisted, when I began listing off all the things more entertaining than watching old men talk about import/export taxes and customs officials.

  Seriously, they droned on for three meetings, debating whether to switch shipping routes because some port, in a country I’d never heard of, wanted more money. Then there was a bunch of crap about cost-benefit analyses, good will, and opportunity costs. Just when my eyes had glaz
ed over completely, a video about some person named Kimberley started playing, and I finally thought we were about to hear juicy gossip. No such luck.

  “Not necessarily for us. It could be that whatever is on here is only important to Lark,” I corrected him. “And I don’t think we’re going to figure that out tonight. We’ve been watching these tapes for hours and have barely scratched the surface of all of this footage.” My voice had a nasally whine to it that was annoying even to me.

  Deep down, I knew that whatever Lark wanted me to see on those videos was likely very important. It had to be, considering all her safeguards. But it had been a long day, and my attention span was rapidly waning.

  My mind kept drifting back to the mystery man, the intruder in Lark’s apartment. That guy had to have answers—definitely more than the video files Lark hid inside of a custom-made pendant, right?

  “First off,” Asher began, pulling me out of my thoughts. He trailed off as he got situated, repositioning himself so his body was angled away from the laptop and toward me.

  If I had to venture a guess, I’d say a lecture was in my immediate future. Great, I thought and zoned out.

  We were still sitting side by side on the couch in Lark’s living room, and Asher’s knee brushed mine when he turned. Now, maybe it was because we’d squashed the curiosity by already kissing; maybe it was because we’d discussed how wrong kissing each other was; maybe it was because I felt numb after the day I’d had; maybe it was for any one of a myriad of other reasons…but I felt nothing. Okay, perhaps not exactly nothing, but I was relieved, albeit a little surprised, when the skin-to-skin contact didn’t turn my insides to warm liquid or send shivers down my spine.

  With a barely-suppressed giggle, I considered how ass-backward the situation was. If I’d known that all it would take to get Asher out of my system was a kiss, I would’ve locked lips with him that very first day we met.